


Put in Perspective

by darcymariaphoster



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Marriage, Mentions of drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcymariaphoster/pseuds/darcymariaphoster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There had seldom been a moment in Greg’s life where he had been truly nervous. Loneliness was something he had simply accepted as life. Now it was being replaced with something warm and inviting and he didn’t know how it had happened. </p><p>GregXJohn</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put in Perspective

There were days when Lestrade felt extremely lonely. He had a wife and they spent a decent amount of time together, what with the fact that he worked over forty hours a week. He always tried his best to make it home for dinner every night and give her the weekends but it didn’t always work that way. He had lots of cases to sift through and the ones he was assigned normally had a deadline attached to it. Night after night, he worked on cases, trying to get them done as quickly as possible so he could catch the killer and get home to his wife.

 

But he knew better than to believe that his wife had the patience of a saint. She said when he had proposed that she was prepared for whatever trials their relationship would have to endure. However, he was watching her patience slowly thin. It was two years in and he was getting home later and later at night. He’d stopped expecting dinners, instead picking up food on his way home. There were no more cuddles at night; she had her side of the bed and he had his. His days off were filled with being dragged along for grocery shopping at the market and a chick-flick he couldn’t care less about. He tried to endure it for her, to show that he cared about her still. But, most nights, his mind was still on his current case and it would weasel its way into conversations with his wife. He would fall asleep too early. She was pulling away. So was he. Even in her presence, he felt alone.

 

It all came to a head when he met Sherlock Holmes. The prat was still shooting up and enjoyed popping up at crime scenes to make Lestrade look like a bloody moron. He was getting increasingly frustrated with him. And, yet, he continued to put up with him because he was intrigued. No one else liked to have Sherlock around -- hell, Lestrade hated to have him around -- but 99.9% of the time, the druggie was right. He could see everything as clearly as if he was a witness of the whole crime and Greg _couldn’t see it_. It drove him up the wall. He stood in the same spot as Sherlock, studied the same body, read the same files, saw the same blood-spatter. But he just didn’t see what Sherlock did.

 

While dealing with Sherlock, one then had to put up with his pesky older brother. It was interesting to see. They seemed opposite at first but they were so alike. One flaunted his riches and the other wasted it away on things he believed would stimulate his intellect. One tended to use his intelligence only when extremely necessary and the other flaunted it consistently. But they were both brilliant and manipulative. Mycroft Holmes tended to be the most manipulative, using government threats to get what he wanted done.

 

It was irritating and stress-inducing when he had to put up with the Holmes brothers on an almost daily basis. He would have to stay late for either one on any occasion to finish whatever they wanted finished -- whether it be a case or to make sure Sherlock was clean. He was feeling more and more isolated. He hardly ever got the chance to ask his wife how she was or how her week had been going.

 

One day, he finally had a break. He turned off his phone and left his office light off and locked the door. He picked up Chinese for dinner and set up a mock-romantic dinner for his wife (that was one of their first dates they’d ever had). After lighting the candles, he sat down and waited. On cue, about a half an hour later, his wife walked in and paused. And burst into tears. They weren’t happy tears. Greg knew that their date was not going to be as wonderful as he’d planned. After a bit of convincing, she sat down and they ate a little bit in a tense silence. His stomach knotted and wouldn’t allow much food to settle.

 

Finally, she set down her fork and softly said, “I can’t keep doing this. I think it’s best if you leave. Permanently.” The divorce was implied.

 

Greg felt that he would never stop feeling lonely after that. He took his first sick day the following morning and packed his things. He stayed in a hotel for a few weeks until he could find a flat that he could afford. His second sick day was to move his things into his new flat. It was cold and unwelcoming and he had nothing to fill the walls with, nothing to make it look more personal. He slowly started buying furniture to fill his new home and even bought an odd piece of artwork to hang on his sitting room wall. The throb of lonely pain in his chest dulled hugely after that. He focused on his work to distract him from his lack of romantic partner. He focused on getting Sherlock clean so that he could ask him to help more often. He focused on pissing Mycroft off as frequently as he could in hopes of getting him to stop bothering him every day. He hardly spent any time at home.

 

And then, one day, Sherlock showed up at the Yard with a limping blonde fellow. The man had a stern but strangely soft face and eyes of liquid steel. It didn’t take a Sherlock to know he was military. He eyed the new addition warily, wondering about a million things at once and only two seemed most important: did he do drugs; is he going to help or hinder? He asked neither. His first sight of John was in the living room of Sherlock’s flat. The second was when he arrived at the scene of a fourth “connected suicide” and Sherlock vaguely introduced him as Doctor John Watson. He seemed both proud and weary of the title. Greg had never gone to war but he could imagine one would get sick of being reminded of it. He didn’t ask about it.

 

It seemed that Sherlock had decided to have John as his new assistant because the blonde was almost always seen with him after that. And Greg slowly started to mind less and less. In fact, he was starting _enjoy_ working with John. It made his days easier to cope with. He wasn’t sure why and he wasn’t positive when that had started happening. But he was perfectly fine with it.

 

Things between them shifted slowly. It wasn’t just Sherlock and John and then Greg on the side. John seemed to want to put more effort into keeping Greg into the loop, wanting to go to the Yard even if it wasn’t necessarily needed from him. They exchanged numbers at one point and would text constantly. One night, John woke from a nightmare and called Greg. After a bit of reassuring, they talked about absolutely nothing until they both fell asleep. It was small things. Things they stopped taking note of. Things that made Greg feel more alive than ever before but never had to say a word about. Things that got them both grinning like children on Christmas morning. And it didn’t stop. They started going for lunch once in awhile, not calling it anything and not mentioning it by any sort of name. Things just _were_ and things were _good_.

 

Then, one day, he woke up and found that his chest didn’t hurt anymore. It wasn’t even a dull throb. There simply was no pain. He was baffled. When he sifted through what could have possibly changed, he realized it was all a web that went into a pinpoint because of one _person_. John. He supposed that there was no understanding the whole ordeal. But he went to work practically whistling and Donovan choked on her coffee (he may have laughed at that). He sat in his office a moment and just grinned to himself.

 

Suddenly, Sherlock burst in with John trailing behind him. “I was summoned here?” He looked irritated. Greg glanced at his watch. It was half-past nine in the morning. He was puzzled as he turned back to the pair. “You didn’t text me,” he muttered, pulling his phone out again. He mumbled to himself as he walked back out the door. But John stayed, looking over at Greg.

 

After a full minute, John closed the door and walked over to the desk. “I’m not stupid. I have friends who teach me tricks.” He had sent the text. He never explained how but Greg knew he had. “He was bored and needed something to do. Please tell me you have a case?”

 

They were both very aware that that was not the reason John had closed the door. “Take your pick,” he said and gestured to the pile of case files he had to look through that day. “But you could have just called to ask for a decent case for him. Why are you here?”

 

For just a moment, John’s face held nothing but uncertainty. It was if every second he’d spent whispering in front of the mirror to give himself resolve for this had melted away with one question. One unplanned question. Then he squared his shoulders and stated, “Take me to dinner. Pick me up at seven on Friday night.” He plastered a nervous smile on his face that, frankly, Greg found adorable.

 

It took too long for Lestrade to gather his voice again. “I’m sorry but…” John’s face started for fall. “I think eight might work better for me. My shifts tend to run a bit late.” The grin that broke onto that face was the most amazing thing he had ever seen and it took everything he had to not jump him right then and there.

 

Fortunately (unfortunately?), Sherlock took that moment to burst back into the room, waving his phone. “John, explain this!” Greg just laughed and tossed a file at him.

 

XX

 

There had seldom been a moment in Greg’s life where he had been truly nervous. Proposing to his ex-wife was one of those times. Getting ready to pick John up was another. He fixed his jacket for the tenth time, debating on whether or not it was too casual. Finally, he grabbed his keys and wallet and headed out the door before he could change. Again. Closing the car door was like locking himself into a dream. All that was running through his head was a chant of _isthisreallyhappeninghowisthishappening?_ He started the car and headed to 221 B Baker Street with a pounding heart.

 

Loneliness was something he had simply accepted as life. Now it was being replaced with something warm and inviting and he didn’t know how it had happened. It was incomprehensible to him. He was also terrified. He was afraid that this whole thing was a joke, a trick, and he’d end up sitting in his flat again, drinking a six-pack alone.

 

John was something that was hard to describe. He was brilliant in his own unique way. He was caring -- it was beginning to become the only reason he was so helpful with cases. He was military and, hell, if that didn’t turn Greg on. He set his shoulders as he parked in front of the flat. Before he could even open the door to get out, John skittered out the door, a mildly irritated expression on his face. He opened the door, climbed in, and slammed it shut behind him. After a brief moment to catch his breath, he turned to Greg with a grin. “Hullo,” he greeted cheerfully. Too cheerfully. Greg narrowed his eyes. “What?”

 

“You okay? You don’t have to do this…” There it was. He was actually admitting that he thought this was a joke. He was asking John to just admit it, laugh, and go back inside. Because loneliness had been his best friend for so long, he fully believed that it was his only option. His wife had thought so too.

 

John stared at him a moment in confusion and then muttered, “Greg, if you don’t want to do this, that’s fine. I know I was taking a gamble but… You seemed like a really decent guy who needed a good night out. This doesn’t have to be anything but two friends going to get a drink, if you need.” He looked a bit disappointed as he said all this and yet his voice stayed firm.

 

Greg couldn’t help but let out an incredulous bark of a laugh. “I was afraid this was a joke. If you’re serious, a nice date out is just what the doctor ordered.” He winked at the blonde who blushed slightly.

 

“It is precisely what the doctor ordered,” John said with a smirk. “And maybe a little bit of dessert after.” Greg flushed this time and turned his attention to driving off to his already decided destination. They drove in silence for a bit and then John shifted in his seat. “So, I’m curious about that ‘drug bust’ you pulled the other day. Withholding evidence?”

 

Greg outwardly grimaced. “He’s done it before. And the drug bust was a cover but I’ve done plenty to him in the past.” He got a rather perplexed look to this bit of information. “I’ve had to deal with Sherlock through his druggie years up to now. His brother set me to be his babysitter and that involved breaking into his flat to search for drugs on a bi-weekly basis. When I finally threatened to lock him up and withhold cases from him, he started sobering up. I mean, yeah, I worried about his health but it wasn’t really my problem. Until Mycroft. If he hadn’t always been nosing into my cases and life, I probably wouldn’t have cared about his methods to stay awake and alert.”

 

John nodded to his words. “I understand. His methods are unorthodox but they worked for him. I don’t think he had much going for him, though, and that’s why he did what he did.” Greg shrugged noncommittally. It took a moment before John quietly asked, “What do you mean by him nosing into your life?”

 

He actually had said that? Greg hissed angrily at himself and his hands tightened on the wheel reflexively. “Sherlock just does that. You must have noticed by now?”

 

“I have…” John murmured, watching Greg’s reaction and deciding that he better drop it while he was ahead. “Listen, I asked you out because you looked at knackered as I felt. Let’s enjoy the night, yeah?”

 

Greg pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant. It was a prime place because it was casual-formal and if this turned in an awkward way, they could still pass off the night as friends. As he turned off the car, he grinned at John. “Yeah, of course, mate.” They got out of the car and headed inside where they were given the choice of a booth or a table. After a bit of light bickering, they decided on a booth. Greg honestly wanted to just let himself go with the night. He wanted to be a risk-taker and just say, “fuck it” to everything. But he was too wary. Too scared, if he were to be honest. There had to be a bit of restraint, a way out if things didn’t work the way he hoped they would. And that was how he was dictating his entire night. _If this happens, can I still do that? If that doesn’t work out, will this be an option? Can I make this less awkward this way?_ It wasn’t his favorite thing to do but he couldn’t shut his brain off.

 

About halfway through their dinner date, John decided that Greg was thinking too much and slid over in the booth until they were side-by-side. He then started purposefully bumping into the other, knocking the fork out of his hand several times before Greg started playfully shoving him. “I’m eating,” he said lightly to which John just laughed, “You’ve been eating for ages. Aren’t you done?”

 

Greg had not lived with Sherlock before but he could assume that sleep was not something that happened frequently at 221 B Baker Street. For John to be so enthusiastic and wound up hinted heavily at sleep-deprivation. Deciding the food was not worth whatever could come out of this, he set his fork aside and dropped a few bills on the table before grabbing John’s hand and heading out of the place. They skittered to a stop in front of the car, stared at it, looked at each other, and then continued walking. The air seemed to sober up John a bit and they talked in hushed voices about their experiences between the military and the force. When they tired of that, John swung their hands a bit and offered, “This has been great. I haven’t felt this stress-free for ages.”

 

Grinning, Greg agreed. “We should do this more often. Bi-weekly?”

 

John snorted. “I’d like weekly, personally. Doesn’t have to cost anything. Just no running. I do enough of that with Sherlock.” He sighed and rolled his shoulder. “Speaking of, Greg… I was thinking… You’re a really great guy. Hell, I’d go as far as to say the best I’ve met since I moved back to London. And I was starting to think… You’ve known Sherlock longer than I have. I think that things between us, if we wanted to keep them going, could go far. I mean, you’d understand best when Sherlock dragged me away and all that. Everyone else I’ve dated sees themselves as second best and it’s not true. But… When Sherlock says come…”

 

“You damn well better come,” Greg finished quietly and John nodded. It was only a first date and neither _expected_ there to be more. In fact, Greg had kind of been betting that they wouldn’t even get to bed together that night. He was resigning himself to the idea that this was just for fun, one night, and they’d go back to pretending nothing had happened the next day. For John to be suggesting that they have nights like these again, implying that something could come of this… Greg was a bit baffled. “So you’d want to date me because I can put up with you running off with Sherlock all the time? That’s a bit shallow, don’t ya think?”

 

John’s body physically jolted with the suggestion that left Greg’s lips and he looked up at the other with a deep frown. “That’s not what I meant, but I suppose it did sound like that…” He worried his lower lip a moment and then tried again, “It was more of a side-thought. Something that would suggest things could really work between us.”

 

After that, Greg couldn’t give a damn about what he had meant. John was suggesting that this could go somewhere and they hadn’t even finished this date. He was elated. He hadn’t felt this way in what felt like eons. He jumped on the chance. He stopped their walking, turned to face John, cupped his face in both hands… And pressed their lips together firmly. There was a startled noise that bubbled up from John’s throat before he rested his hands on his shoulders and kissed him back happily.

 

XX

 

Every day was new and exciting again. Greg didn’t even have to see John, but he knew that the day would bring something unexpected. Things were good.

 

That is, until Sherlock violently ripped himself from everyone’s lives. He smashed John into broken bits and pieces, leaving Greg to shakily try to pick up the mess. It was difficult because, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he’d been growing attached to Sherlock and regarded him as a very good (odd but good) friend. Now he had to be the steady one for his boyfriend who was falling apart at the seams, lost and confused. It was devastating to watch. And Greg supposed that that was when they started drifting. It wasn’t a bit or obvious drift in the beginning. It was just John mourning and Greg mourning with him and trying to hold himself together for John. There was two months spent where nothing could convince the little blonde that Sherlock was truly dead and John spent a considerable amount of time moping around 221 B Baker Street. Greg had to keep working.

 

The drift became obvious at about seven months after Sherlock’s drift. Greg had asked John to move in with him because he hoped that it would bring John back to the real world, help put him back together. But Greg was feeling that loneliness nagging at him again. It was as if a small creature had nestled down by his heart and was munching lazily at it when it was bored. John was inconsistent with work and Greg was too consistent. The creature got bored more often. After a year, Greg was exhausted. He had watched John fall apart and put up a mask and there was no healing because Greg _wasn’t there to help_. He tried to justify it by saying he was coping in his own way. But coping wasn’t facing and not facing wasn’t healing. So he started taking shorter shifts and let some of the other DI’s take his cases so he could be home with John.

 

There was little difference. John wasn’t melting. He was still in “soldier” mode and Greg knew it. Finally, feeling very weary, Greg sat down with his boyfriend and sighed, “I can’t take this anymore.” John looked at him curiously, asked what he meant. “I didn’t mind when this started, honestly. But I have been second best to a man that isn’t even here anymore for a year now and I can’t take it. It hurts a lot, John. You’re not coming back. You’re still hiding away, tucked from my view and it’s so frustrating to me. Not just because you’re not here but because I’m just a pathetic sort of man who can’t hold onto those he loves…” That was the hardest part to admit. “I am just a sorry excuse of space who can’t help you…”

 

John was silent for a long while before he closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were no longer empty. They were bright and longing and infinitely _sad_. “I’m so sorry, Greg. You’re right. I haven’t been here. I’ve been chasing a man who isn’t ever coming back and that’s not fair to you. I haven’t been here for _you_. You deserve better…” That wasn’t really what Greg had been expecting to hear and it caught him off guard. There was a brief pause while they adjusted to look at each other better. “If you give me the chance, I will come back. You’ve been my rock, my biggest support. I don’t think I would still be here if you hadn’t been here for me. I’ve been taking that for granted and I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. But please let me come back and be with you again. I don’t want to lose anyone else. Not you.”

 

Greg leaned down and rested their foreheads together, intertwining their fingers. He felt a rush of guilt for being so selfish. He hadn’t even thought about how he was _helping_ John, he’d just been so focused on how he was _losing_ him. Then there was just a wave of affection for the man he was holding so close and he whispered, “Of course I’ll be here. I haven’t left yet and I don’t think anything in the world -- even being second best to a now nonexistent man -- could make me leave now.” Which was very true. Even through the loneliness, he hadn’t actually considered leaving because John was too important to him. He had simply been hoping for reason and a solution. This was a bit more than he had anticipated. “I will stay as long as I am welcome.”

 

John smiled. It was broken and soft and beautiful but it was a smile. “You will always be welcome in my life, Greg.” He pressed their lips together gently and then they just sat there, their foreheads pressed together with their eyes closed and their breath mingling in the most unassuming way.

 

It was then that Greg realized something. He realized that John was always teaching him. He was teaching him patience and new perspectives. While he had been focused on how he’d felt, he’d forgotten that the other side of the coin was how John felt. And that John could feel _steady_ because Greg hadn’t given up on him. It wasn’t all about grief and pain and loss. It was about happiness and strength and life. They had struggled through a year together, fighting themselves and, sometimes, even each other. Just to get where they were right then. They were not whole and they were gleeful. But they were together and they could keep fighting. Put into perspective, Greg realized that they could build each other up again. They could lean on each other and rely on each other and trust each other again. And there would be a vacant spot in their hearts where they missed their dear friend but he would no longer be the center. Their love and care for each other would be the center and that was important.

 

“I love you.” It was the first time Greg had said it and he meant it. His heart about leapt from his chest in anticipation and practically burst from affection. He did not want to lose this man. They wrapped their arms around each other and Greg sighed, content again. He knew that the moment was short and that things wouldn’t magically get better instantly after this but they were going to try and that was all he could possibly ask for.

 

XX

 

Two weeks passed. Then another month. And soon six months had passed. Things had turned and it had been an uphill battle. But they were amazingly happy again. They visited Sherlock’s grave once every two months (or every time they had a big fight, which was less and less frequent). And then Greg surprised even himself by popping into a local jewelry store. He took John out to what they both considered “their” restaurant. Once outside, they walked aimlessly around until Greg stopped him and proposed. It wasn’t overly-sappy but it was just the right amount of sweet so that John practically burst into tears -- and that was hard to do because he was such a strong soldier. Obviously, he said yes and Greg slipped the ring onto his finger.

 

The date was set. Everyone who mattered knew about it. Suits were bought. And then Sherlock, the bloody and oblivious and obnoxious and moronic man, decided to inform the world that he was, in fact, not dead. And the world seemed to tilt slightly, making Greg feel as if he was going to be turned upside down. There was an invisible thread binding them and it seemed to stretch so far after that, to the point where it should snap but was too tight to obviously do so. Sherlock was utterly lost about the idea that John was going to be married, that he had abandoned their home for “such an ignorant man”, and that he had been trying to move on. For almost a month, Greg felt as if John had been yanked away from him and everything they had managed was gone. The loneliness was creeping back and he fought it as best he could.

 

One day, John brought him flowers as an apology. And Greg almost didn’t accept. It had been a bad day to begin with and he had gotten really irritated with himself when contemplating the situation between John and Sherlock. But then the puppy-dog eyes were produced and his heart melted. “Greg, I know it’s ridiculously hard…” John started as he handed the flowers over and sat on the edge of the desk. “And I don’t mean to keep putting you off. I love you. I would do anything for you. Let’s get married next week, yeah? Nothing big or fancy. Let’s get our suits and we’ll go to City Hall and get it all done. I want to.”

 

It wasn’t exactly as Greg had planned (and he hadn’t been planning for him, mind you). But as he stared at the flowers and listened to the words, he found himself nodding. He just wanted John to be happy because if he was happy, Greg would be happy. “Alright… If you’re sure you don’t want all the hubbub…”

 

John grinned widely as Greg looked up at him. “All I care about is being with you, never forgetting why I love you. And for you to remember that I’m married to you. Sherlock is like a pesky child. He’s our best mate but he’s an attention-whore. I think we could both use a bit more of a reminder that we have someone besides him to go home to each night.” He looked down at his ring and his smile turned soft. Tension was wiped from John entirely and Greg took his hand.

 

“I’ll never forget,” he whispered with a gentle smile. “But I would love to have a ring on my finger to remind me why I put up with your antics sometimes,” he added jokingly and got a half-hearted protest in return. “Yeah, let’s do it. We’ll sneak off so no one can whine at us.” John laughed because they had three people in mind and only one actually mattered. It was strange to think that even though they were their own little unit, one person outside their unit could affect them so much. It wasn’t bad and neither of them thought it was unhealthy. It was just strange. Because, if there was one thing Greg had learned over the years, it was that Sherlock had that sort of affect on people. You couldn’t just _walk away_ from him. Even Donovan and Anderson had been lacking while Sherlock was “dead” and they hated him. He was like a drug and he had both the positive and negative effects on people and you couldn’t escape. And John and Greg had decided to live with that. Sherlock was important but they were more important to each other. At least, Greg hoped that was the case.

 

John leaned down toward him with a conspiratorial smile. “So, we still haven’t used this desk…” Greg turned about twenty shades of red before he set the flowers down.

 

XX

 

As the day crept closer and closer, Greg found himself more and more terrified. This was it. Their lives were about to be completely and legitimately bound. It wasn’t that he wasn’t excited for it because he was. But he was nervous because the last time he had tried this… Well, we all know that part of his story. Greg fiddled with his cuffs nervously, staring in the mirror. It was just an hour before they were going to step into the courtroom together and sign the document. He checked himself over again and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing out softly.

 

The door clicked shut behind him and opened his eyes to see his ex-wife standing there. Shock knocked all the air out of him and anger brought it all back. She stepped up to him and rested her hands on his shoulders, smoothing them out. “I’m happy for you,” she said softly, staring into his eyes through the mirror. It was oddly intimate. “You deserve this.” Greg scoffed and shrugged, effectively telling her not to touch him as she removed her hands. “I know you don’t think so. I made it hard for you. But you do. If he can keep up with you and you can keep up with him, then you deserve each other.”

 

Greg adjusted his bowtie carefully, keeping composed. “I find that things are working much better between us than they had with you and I,” he admitted, feeling awkward. He was about to get married to his boyfriend of four years and now his ex-wife was coming in to give him a pep-talk. He was, at this point, doing his best not to panic. “You should probably go.”

 

“I was just here to give you some encouragement,” she said softly, in that meek way of hers. That way that would have previously made him melt and give her anything. He squared his shoulders. She reached into her purse and pulled out a paper. “For a prosperous life.” She tucked in behind the handkerchief in his jacket pocket. Then she gave him a smile and left the room.

 

Curiously, he pulled the paper out and looked at it. His lips twitched into a small grin and he tucked it away again as he took a deep breath and headed for the courtroom. John arrived just moments after him and scurried to the front, not wanting to make a spectacle of himself -- even if Greg was the only one watching (and smiling, mind you). He met him at the desk and elbowed him in the side. “Stop grinning, you,” he whispered teasingly, blushing.

 

Greg touched his chest and struggled to keep a straight face. They turned their attention to the man in front of him but his brain was not all there. He was focused on something that had been in his head for awhile, something he had not been able to be name. But in his pocket were seven words that defined how he felt perfectly. “Look at it in a new light.” He couldn’t stop smiling because it also defined John perfectly. He was constantly reminding him to stop and look at things differently, and never saying a word. And that was what they were kind of about. They fit so perfectly together because they saw things differently than the rest of the world. If he could only hold onto that idea, then everything they talked about was put in perspective. There would always be two sides to one coin. Nothing could be more foolish than forgetting that. He squeezed John’s hand briefly as he reached into his pocket for his ring. They exchanged the bands and signed the papers and grinned at each other. It was official and they now had reminders forever. Greg kissed John’s forehead softly. For once, he was finally _excited_ about the future.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Certificate of Marriage

This certifies that

  
Gregory Lestrade and John H Watson  


were united in marriage on this day,

the 5th of May in the year 2014.

This ceremony was witnessed and celebrated by

  
Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper.

Katelynn Martiell         

Name of Person Solemnizing Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or variations or characters thereof. 
> 
> A/N: This is my first attempt in this fandom. This is also my first post here. I'm hoping this is alright. Please review! :D


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